Knowing When To Ask For Help
by TheAlphaWrites
Summary: Tony is sick, and Steve helps him through it, even when Tony is an ass. AU. Requested. Warning for some sensitive issues. Tony/Steve.


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Written for Wolf Mirage on FanFiction :)**

_**Beta'd by WithinHerHeart**_

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His vision blurred, his hands shaking violently, and he had to grit his teeth to stave off the nausea churning in his stomach. He gripped the edges of his work table to keep from topping over when dizziness overwhelmed him. He had never felt this sick before, had never wanted to badly to just curl up in a ball and just end it, but he preserved through it. No, he couldn't show himself to be weak, he couldn't let it win.

_Just side affects_, he told him. _Just side affects_.

He blinked furiously in a failed attempt to bring into focus the chest plate he was working on. The gold and red merged at the edges, morphing into one messy shade of orange. He released one hand to wipe away the sweat that was pouring into his vision, but had to quickly return the limb to its post when he nearly topped off his seat.

He knew at this point JARVIS would be insisting he retire to bed for the night, but since he had put his AI on mute about four hours ago for that very reason, he wasn't surprised by the lack of response to his condition.

Somewhere, deep in his rational mind, Tony knew that JARVIS was right. He could barely see, barely stand, and the doctor had told him he would need at least four days of complete bed rest to be able to fully recover before the next radiation session. But the large part of him, the stubborn part, refused to believe his life would be affected in anyway, and that he couldn't handle the poison that had infected his body. It was that part of him that had kept him up until nearly 3AM, forcing his body past its limits and ignoring the pain until it became too unbearable to stand.

Feeling the way he did now, the nausea and the stiffness, the dizziness and the fever, Tony wondered whether he should have taken the chances with the cancer.

It was still in the early stages – lucky to have found it, the doctor had said, a high survival rate – so that could have given him loads of time to try and find a cure that wouldn't end with him, well, like this. He probably would have as well, if it had been just him, but there was Steve to think about. He was so scared for him and hopeful that he could be saved, that he would live, that well, Tony didn't want to take the risk of removing that optimism from him.

He felt a pang in his chest at the reminder of the out of place blond muscle wall that was currently alone in their bed. He had tried to help, had kept the others out of his hair as much as possible – he knew Tony didn't want their knowing looks and, even worse, their pity – and had been the one who made sure that Tony was comfortable, answering at his beck and call, when he returned from the surgery on his liver and after the first radiation session.

But as soon as he had been able to walk without feeling like he was making soup with his inners, he had retreated to his lab, working in the same spaces that he wasn't trembling or vomiting his guts up in the toilet. He hadn't seen Steve for more than maybe four hours every day, which had stopped this morning when Tony had snapped angrily at him after the hundredth time he'd been asked whether he needed anything.

The sorrowful expression on Steve's face as he obligingly made his exit had made Tony regret it instantly. The apology, the need to just call him back and make him smile again, burned his throat, but once again, that stubbornness had taken a hold of him and so instead, he bit his tongue and focused his attention firmly on the repulsors he had been attempting to fix but really only made worse.

He should deal with these things better, he knew, his moments of weakness. Retreating into him self and denying help obviously wasn't working. In fact, the idea of taking some Advil and stumbling up to bed, to fit himself so easily under Steve's arm, that would drag him closer to the man's rock hard chest, was looking more and more appealing by the second.

Tony took short breaths through his gritted teeth, not quite ready to let up yet (he'd done it before and the queasiness had done a sneak attack on him when he wasn't prepared). His hands flexed, testing, on the smooth surface. He blinked a few more times for good measure.

It must have been the ringing in his ears, because he couldn't remember hearing the lab door whoosh open, or the padding of bare feet across the flooring. However, he couldn't deny the reality of the strong arms that wrapped so wonderfully around his shoulders, interlocking in front of his arc reactor so the light cast a shadow on the table, or how the warm breath against his ear left him shivering – this time in the way he enjoyed – when a firm cheek pressed against the side of his face. He leant back into the touch, feeling his body become boneless and relaxed, completely trusting.

His voice came out croaky, cracked because of the desperate need for fluid that he had been ignoring. "Steve?"

"Were you expecting somebody else?" Steve responded quietly, a small hint of forced laughter in his voice as he tried to joke. He paused for a beat, before continuing, his voice wary yet firm, "It's 3AM Tony, and you've been down here since six without a break. You're supposed to be resting, doctor's orders…"

"I know…" Tony mumbled. He licked his chapped lips, "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier," he continued pathetically.

He felt Steve sigh against his ear. "I know you are, but you really need to look after yourself, and since you don't want to do it, I'd appreciate not getting my head bit off every time I try to help."

"I know, I know, sorry, I'm sorry, I like your head where it is, heads and shoulder reunited," Tony replied deliriously. He felt a hand on his forehead, the palm cold and soft against his heated skin, and whimpered pathetically.

"You have a fever," Steve stated. The arms retracted from around his shoulders and he nearly fell out of his chair in his quest to find them again. He felt himself heaved into a hold and sighed contently when he could press his spinning head against a solid body. He nuzzled the fabric and breathed in the familiar smell that was just pure Cap. His weak hands flittered over the fabric. Now, in the hold, his attention diverted from just keeping steady, he realised how tired he actually was.

And Steve Rogers was too damn comfortable for his own good.

Tony's eyes fluttered closed and it took a lot of energy to not just fall asleep as he was. He focused on the slight jolts as the Cap's body moved fluently with each step; he focused on the steady breathing above him and the rise and fall of the chest beneath his chest. Mentally, he tried to map out the route from the lab to the master bedroom when he found he could not keep his eyes open long enough to follow it in real-life.

Despite the cosiness he felt in his lover's arms, he couldn't stop the sigh of contentment that left him when he was placed on his bed. He sunk into the familiar softness mattress and rolled slightly on his side to press his face against the pillow. In the background, he could hear Steve walking around; hear the water running from the bathroom tap, before he was carefully poked into reality.

Silently, Steve held out two Advil tablets and a glass of water. Automatically, Tony knocked back the tablets to the back of his throat, and Steve had to assist with the water to stop the unsteady hands from creating a wet patch in the middle of the bed – not the type that Tony enjoyed.

He keened when Steve's wonderfully calloused hands ran through his hair and he leant into the touch.

"Do you need anything else?" Steve whispered.

"Hold me?" Tony requested hopefully.

Steve's arms were like a vice around him and, even in his half hazed mind, he knew this showed how hard it was for Steve to keep it together. In those tensed muscles, Tony could see how worried he was, how hard he was trying to make it easy on Tony, how hard it was to keep back the tears of anguish and frustration at seeing his lover like this. That was why Steve was CaptainAmerica, Tony mused to himself, no one else would be this strong.

He wanted to offer some words of comfort, anything to try and make the blond feel better, but sleep was numbing his senses and he could no longer fight the urge to just give in. So he held onto Steve's larger hand just as tightly; he pressed himself as close as possible to the other body, legs intertwined and face hidden in his shoulder, and listened the wavered chant that was being whispered so hopefully into his ear:

"You'll be okay, Tony, just sleep. It'll be better in the morning…just sleep now. I'll take care of you…I love you…"

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